“Hello?”“Dude are you coming to. …crackle…. watch me fi…crackle…ght tonight?”“You best put me…crackle… I swear there are four of them; they are good…crackle…really good. Like I need you there”“Good you know if you don’t that I will tell Eve…crackle…”

…

Taz: “Oh God tonight’s card is looking tasty as hot apple pie! I mean wow a fatal four way is at this arena tonight! Unbelievable!”

Cole: “Four guys, one ring, this is going to get brutal, I think we could see blood and teeth on this mat, these guys want that shot soooo bad.”

The camera man is looking around the backstage area to view some of the megastars born in the TCW, he notices some of the shyer superstars backing off as he approaches, but then one man, bold and brave steps forward, and looks directly into the camera; he is wearing a towel around his waist with another slung over his left shoulder, he clenches his fist as he starts to breathe heavily through his flared nostrils.

“As you people of TCW now, I have been carded into a fatal four way tonight, now I hope I don’t have to describe to you fans out there how this one is going to go, I mean you guys out there may love the acrobatics of one of the greats Rob Van Dam, and you may even support that cocky, fan sucking flyer of Jeff Hardy, but you guys know that, you just cannot beat the sheer raw power of Brock Lesnar”

As Lesnar finishes, he eyes the camera with a gleam far from vacant and tenses and relaxes his biceps and pecks.

Cole: “wow you heard that challenge, and man Brock didn’t even acknowledge Alex Riley, is he just discounting him already?”

Taz:”I don’t know man, but I think Brock still has that last defeat ringing in his head, I mean he showed just how dominant he is in the ring with all that power, but still got beat, he’s just got ‘a get his head in the game”

Cole:” Oh talk of the superstar himself here he comes!”

As Cole finishes his sentence Lesnar strolls out onto the entrance ramp with a look on his face as if to say that he owns the place, the famous entrance music is blasting around the arena, as a backstage employee hands him a mic, and the lights dim. He begins to take almost showman like stance in the middle of the ramp as the crowd is heard chanting ‘LESNAR! LESNAR! LESNAR!’

Taz:”I really didn’t think the crowd would be backing Lesnar tonight, not with fan favorites Hardy and RVD, in the fight, but we can all agree that nobody seems to be backing Alex Riley”

The PA cuts to Lesnar’s voice as the lights shine bright on him:

“Ladies and Gentleman of TCW, I am sorry you had to witness me lose my opening fight of the new season last week, I was beaten by in a fair fight, but as you know fatal four-ways are never fair, I could lose without being pinned or being made to submit. So Ladies and gentleman, tonight I will show you how to dominate, I will throw these competitors around the ring like rag dolls, I will dominate the wrestlers, and you know what, I’m so confident that I’m better than them, I might even go as far as to say; I’m going to make one of them puny men tap out. They are going to be hitting that mat so hard, begging the referee to end the fight and call me the winner. I’m used to having my arm lifted in the world of UFC so know its time to bring my winning ways here.”

Cole: “Wow strong words there from Lesnar, I just hope he can reproduce what he has claimed he can do in the ring later tonight!”

As Lesnar walks back up the entrance ramp, the camera pans to an apparent ‘fan’ bursting through the crowds, fighting to get to the front, as he does he pushes the security gate and a member of the security team is bundled over and the others react, but not quick enough. The ‘fan’ raises one of the audiences steel chairs collapses it and swings at Lesnar, catching him on the back of the skull, he laughs and drops the chair, as the reaming security team, take on a new style of wrestling; throwing themselves on top of the deranged man, swinging the occasional fist to keep him down.

Lesnar drops to the his knees holding the back of his head, he moves his hand round to the front to see trickles of blood on his fingers and dripping through his blonde hair. As he begins to come around and stand up, the man on the ground shouts:

“That is a message I have delivered on behalf of the great Alex Riley!”

Lesnar turns to look at the man, and exclaims:

“Tell Riley to fight his own wars, and man the hell up!” before walking backstage to receive treatment from the medics.

Taz:”I just can’t believe my eyes, how did that happen? I hope it doesn’t affect Brocks game for the fight, I really want to see him nail some of those F-5’s!”

Cole:”Well it looks like I was right about blood being spilt tonight Taz!”

The camera's cut to the backstage area which appears to be a door, simple door, handle, pretty plain in colour and what appears to be a symbol on this very door, it's a red hand holding a lightning strike with a black square spray painted around it, as the camera zooms out a rather attractive, beautiful young woman with dark brown reddish hair is standing by with a microphone, she has a big smile on her face and begins to raise the microphone and then starts to speak...

Maria: Ladies and gentlemen, I am here outside of CM Punks locker room as I hope to get a interview with him regarding his triple threat match...

Just as Maria finishes saying the word match, the door slowly pops open and CM Punk sticks his head out, as he looks Maria up and down with a grin on his face, the fans in attendance give a mixed reaction of cheers and boos.

"You know I thought I heard a voice, I was getting worried that fat chick from the restaurant was stalking me! [Crowd laughs] Hold on one Second Maria, lets just say I'm not decent at the minute and then I shall come back out, O.K?"

As Maria stands there looking as puzzled as ever, she simply replies "O.K", Punk smiles at her, closes the door and throws his ring gear on, as soon as he's finished he comes right out the door, folds his arms and stares at Maria who again stands there with a blank smile on her face, CM Punk waits patently.

Maria: Mr Punk, how did you feel your first match went last week in Madison Square Garden?

CM Punk frowns at Maria and unfolds his arms, he then gazes up at the ceiling with his hand on his chin stroking his beard, Punk then, after a moment of thinking decides to answer Maria's stupid question.

"They were rhetorical questions, you weren't meant to reply, you know what, don't even respond to that, anyway, yeah so what I beat Brock Lesnar what is your point? I said exactly what I was going to do and that's pretty much the end of it really, it was almost too easy in fact, but you know what's even better? I've been added to the TCW Series match and you know what's funny about that? The guy I was supposed to face this week didn't show up, who knows maybe he dropped the ball and went home or maybe he's gotten bored of wrestling again that he actually went out and decided to record another album which no body even cares about!"

As CM Punk catches his breath and a loud "CM Punk" chant starts, he stares in to the camera and shrugs his shoulders at the crowds responses as Maria asks yet another question.

Maria: O.K then Mr Punk, may I ask you about your triple threat match this week instead? You are up against Ryback and one of my all time favourites, The Rock!

Maria then drifts in to dream land thinking about the Rock.

"Hah! You are asking me about The Rock? I'll get back to you on Ryback in just a second, but as for Rock, funny how I mentioned someone else who I was supposed to face who hardly shows up in a wrestling ring and then, as you clearly reminded me, one of my opponents is indeed The Rock, a guy that thrives on pointless, unfunny catchphrases he's been saying for the past 14 or so years, I mean did he know they died out over a decade ago? He's a guy who left for Hollywood and then waltzes back in to the wrestling industry thinking he's bigger than the wrestling industry itself! I have no respect for a guy like him, he's a hypocrite, he treats everyone as if they are below him but yet and if you go on the Internet, you will read all the stories about how he was treated like crap, people said he would never make it and I believe that very person was Shawn Michaels, but hey he was wrong. So Rock, don't be upset if I hit you with the GTS and beat you in the middle of the ring, because I have more to gain from pinning you than I do that Goldberg wannabe, Ryback. "

As CM Punk cools himself down a bit, he starts pacing back and forth and yet again catching his breath, ready for his next rant, Maria continues to stand there with a smile on her face taking it all in and having no idea what Punk is blabbering on about.

"So next is my other opponent, Ryback, what can I say about him really? Apart from me already claiming he's a Bill Goldberg rip off, there isn't really anything else too say, I know he's a powerful guy and will probably whoop my ass, but I said the same about my opponent last week who is twice Rybacks size and I beat him, you see why you may lose your temper and go off the rails and lose control of yourself during the match, I'll be keeping my cool and ready to strike at the right moment and get the one, two, three on the so called Peaople's Champ and advance further to prove once and for all that I am the Best in the World, I maybe the smallest guy in this triple threat, but you can bet your ass that won't stop me kicking the crap out of you two guys, Maria, are we finished here now? "

Maria: I... I...I Think...

"Just get the hell out of here, I'm thirsty and need my diet soda!"

As Maria's bottom lip drops and she pulls the sad puppy dog look, Punk gives no sympathy and walks away towards the drinks machine as the camera fades to...

{The Heavyweight Champion of the World. Only a select few can ever say that they've held that gold. It is the measuring stick for the business. It is the goal for everyone who has ever laced up a pair of boots. It is the be all, end all of this entire industry. And every once in a while, that incredible honor is put up for grabs. It just so happens that this is that while. And now eight individuals are trying to make it worth their while and compete for the creme de la creme of the professional wrestling business. Introducing the TCW Heavyweight Championship Series; a battle of eight men over the course of two months that will determine who is the top dog in TCW, and who is deserving of the title, the honor and the prestige of the TCW World Heavyweight Championship.

All eight of the men involved in the TCW Championship Series have been scrambling since their matches that involved them in it. Everyone is trying to focus, strengthen themselves and attempt to be the best version of themselves. In this particular edition of Warzone, Josh Matthews, resident interviewer, is standing backstage in his well pressed suit and fifteen dollar haircut, trying to look like a real boy. He is holding a microphone at full attention, looking into the live TCW camera with an incredulous smile.

"My guest at this time," Matthews began, "is one of the eight men entered in the TCW Championship Series. Ladies and gentlemen, Derrick Bateman." Echoes of cheers can be heard faintly in the distance as the Mantastic One, Derrick Bateman walks toward Josh. He throws his arm over the interviewer, who is slightly taken back but continues to his questions. "Derrick, you are involved in the main event tonight in a TCW Championship Series match, facing off against both Nathan Jones and John Cena. What do you think your odds are going into this intense Triple Threat match?"

Bateman takes a moment to think of the answer to the question and to adjust his brow. He adjusts his gaze from Josh to the camera, making his words have extra emphasis. "Well Joshua, I would never say that the match tonight is going to be easy," Bateman boasted, "but I would also be lying if I said that I didn't feel confident going in. Not only did I handily defeat Dolph Ziggler last week, but I'm main eventing this week. And I'm not going to let this opportunity slip through my manly hands. So I did some extra special training. I found myself a Hyperbolic Time Chamber and in the matter of the last day, I worked in a year's worth of training. I am stronger, more agile, and more patriotic than ever. And my training partner in the chamber, you might ask? It was none other than the Canadian Destroyer himself, Petey Williams. And while some might think that a pure hearted American like myself could have easily crushed the likes of a Canadian like Petey, I am also diplomatic. I understand that he knows things that I don't, like crazy finishing moves and maple syrup-based recipes. So I gained another move to my already expansive arsenal of offense. In addition to my DBD headlock driver, I am now well versed in what I dub, the American Destroyer."

Josh Matthews takes a beat. "Is that just your variation of the Canadian Destroyer, Petey Williams' flip pile driver?" Bateman scoffs, "What? Umm…no." Bateman coughs and laughs nervously. "Of course it's not! It is my variation of the Canadian Destroyer. It may look similar to the uninitiated eyes but if you look closely enough, it has at least four hundred percent more freedom than Petey's move. And I am confident that with both of these devastating moves at my disposal, no one in TCW can hold be down. Not Matt Morgan and certainly not John Cena."

"John Archibald Cena," the American Hero declared, "has a lot going for him. He was the face of the WWE. He is a eighty-six time World champion. He is a Billboard charting rapper, settling in at a comfortable number fifteen slot. He is a loving husband. He is…oh wait. Whoops. I'm wrong about at least one of those things. But never the less, I am not intimidated by John Cena. Despite his massive hands, I think I can counter them. Despite his viciously tight grip of his STF, I think I can squirm out of it. And despite his magical invisibility, I think I can overcome it. Because while I was locked in that chamber for the last year-day, I trained. I trained long and hard. And now John…I can see you. I know you rely on your invisibility to defeat some of your opponents, but not me John. I can see you and your scarily large hands coming from a mile away." Derrick peers over at Josh Matthews next to him, taking his eyes away from the camera and thus his audience of Batemaniacs. "And the weird thing is Josh, most women like big hands."

He focuses his eyes back to the camera, back to the live crowd in attendance tonight and the millions watching at home on their cable televisions. "As for Nathan Jones, he isn't invisible. He didn't lose half of his money in a divorce. And he cannot rap. Not many know this, but he sings. He sings ska. Australian ska. Australian prison ska. It's quite beautiful, really. But this isn't a singing contest. At least I'm pretty sure it isn't. If it is a wrestling match, like I assume it is, then this fella is trouble. He's a monster of a man, and I cannot deny that. But he is Australian. And a convict. And bald. And guess who's American. And free. And brave enough to rock a head of hair this amazing?" Bateman slides his two thumbs up from below camera view up to his already grinning face. "This guy. And while Nathan Jones might be used to a different kind of three-way from his prison life, this is a different game. Triple threat rules, three men, one winner. Well, actually three winners. Those winners tonight will be Derrick Bateman, chicks, and America." The Leader of the Batemaniacs strikes a Superman-esque pose with his hands on his hips, staring off into the distance. Josh takes two steps backwards in uncomfortability and let's Derrick do his thing. Most would say that he is staring off into the distance at nothing. For the more informed, they would know that he is looking dead into the eyes of victory.}

...Josh Matthews, wrestler, commentator, and now interviewer backstage in a dark room with a large banner carrying the TCW logo. With only one light shining on his face, Matthews looks a little anxious. This means one thing: he will be interviewing a very hostile superstar. Who could it be? Nathan Jones? Dean Ambrose? Before one could think of another name, another personality ready to fight, Matthews clears his throat. Adjusting his tie nervously, he finally chokes out a coherent sentence.

"Ladies and gentleman, I am Josh Matthews, and this evening I have the pleasure to be seated next to one of the biggest men on the TCW roster and a prime candidate in the running for the TCW World Heavyweight Championship. Tonight seated next to me is none other than Mark Henry. Great to have you here tonight, Henry."

"Yeah, sure. Did you manage to catch that interview I did with Todd Grisham last week? Well, everything I said to him applies to you as well."

Some fans boo Henry's appearance on the Titantron, while a few others, a minority of the fans, cheer with some audible "Aww hell yeah"s being picked up by the show's microphones. Matthews waits for them to quite down, looking nervously at his note cards. Once he feels he will be heard, he speaks again.

"Henry, last week you dominated your match. Your opponent didn't have a chance. How did it feel to win so easily and effortlessly?"

"Well, obviously, it felt good to win. Anyone who has won something, anything before in their life, knows that. Great question to ask. But actually, it also felt empowering. Winning while barely trying makes me feel relieved that my body can compete like it has in the past. My fluent movements and strength that most of y'all watching saw last week just shows that I'm in my prime. I'm not a kid, but I'm not an old man. Right now I feel the better than I ever felt before. I would say that I'm a good contender for the World Heavyweight Championship belt, and because of my attitude, my undying heart and spirit to make sure that I win that title and snatch it away from all those who are undeserving, all those that think doing a few bench presses and sit ups means they will have everything in this industry and this life given to them, that I have that something to push me above my fellow competitors. I have that drive to win this championship that nobody else in this company has ever experienced before. To all those who saw my match last week and were wondering what that victory meant in regards to how I think I can perform in this company, a question you should have been asking Josh, that is my response."

"Uh, great. Great answer Henry. Now, we all saw Cesaro come out and address the audience earlier tonight. Last week you refused to comment on The Rock, questioning his sanity. Do you have anything to say tonight regarding Antonio Cesaro?"

"Actually, Matthews, I do. First off, Cesaro, if you are going to say anything to me, then you should say it to my face. I don't mean with me present in the room, because I watched that little monologue on a television in the locker room and my face was indeed with me. I mean you should say it, not your little freak of the week. I want to hear you say those things, not your Eastern-European mail-order girlfriend. That is just cowardly because, if someone ever confronts you about what you have her say, then you'll just cry "No hablo English" and make it out that she made up the speech by herself. When I fight you tonight, will you jump behind her after I throw you to the ground? Man, dude is worse than Big Sh-oh I'm sorry-Nathan Jones. The guy is a hulking man, a giant, and has some washed up old suit who is only doing this job to pay for child support for his little bastard kids to speak on his behalf? You're tall enough to have been in the NBA, but God so help you because you can't speak into a microphone while people watch? Really? What a lost cause. I'm going to feel so bad when I eventually face him, just because of the situation he is in. And that other character, the clown, what's his name, Doink? Wow, I just don't know what to say about him. I mean, to shorten this interview by cutting out about an hour of material, I'll just say that nobody should degrade themselves by talking for a guy dressed up in five pounds of make-up and a frilly suit, especially a little person, by God."

"Hmm, anything you would like to say about what Aksana said on Cesaro's behalf?"

"Sure. I believe she said something about me being old and having done little with my career. On the second issue, I sort of agree with her, because I wasn't given the same opportunities that some of your more prominent stars in this industry have had tossed to them in their first match. I worked my way single-handidly to the position and championships I have held in the past. In this new company, I will do the same. But. I have been around since the start of my wrestling career. Coming from someone, no sorry, from the manager of someone who spent about a decade trying to be a part of a recognizable company, that is very hypocritcal. To everyone watching this, past, present, and future wrestlers, if you want to insult me and my career, make sure one of the most prominent moments in your own career was not being an ice cream cone. And about me being too old and past my prime, did you really ask her to say that? With people like The Rock, Steve Austin, The Undertaker, Rob Van Dam, and Big, wait fine, Nathan Jones in this building tonight, you want to call me out? My match last week should have shown you that I am primed to kick ass for years to come. If you want me to give you a demonstration, I will gladly do so tonight. If you don't try and hide behind your manager like a pansy, I will make it very apparent that I can still beat someone down. You, for instance. Maybe you'll even need a stretcher and two medics to carry you out of the building. I can do that for you, Tony. You don't even need to ask."

Matthews looks relieved as the camera pans back to him. It is probably because he has almost gotten through his interview without being threatened with a chair shot. He looks ready to wrap things up and adjusts himself to ask Henry one final question. Matthews rewards Henry with a rather open-ended question.

"As we finish this interview, is there anything you wish to say the TCW fans out there?"

"Hold on, wait a minute."

A second ago Henry was, well, not smiling, but not looking like he was about to beat somebody. He looked calm, eyebrows relatively straight, his lips rather neutral. Now his brows point sharply to his nose, his nostrils are flared, his mouth forming a clear frown. Matthews looks different now too. He sits straight up, eyes wide open, a single bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. Mark Henry continues.

"You were doing so well. You were sticking to the matches, what people were saying about me, and now you screw it up with such an abstract question to try to get into my head. Well, here's an abstract answer. No. I have nothing to say to anyone watching this show. Why should I? Should I work to please you? Should I try and make you laugh? I'm just trying to make a living and be the best in my trade. You people watching are rather strange to me. I personally don't like people watching me perform, earn my paycheck. You all might as well crowd around a stockboy and watch him put cans of soup on the shelf. I don't like you people, fans of this brutality you call entertainment, and I have nothing to say to you. And you, Josh, I have nothing more to say to you either."

Henry walks out of the room as Matthews just stares, open mouthed, wondering where he went wrong as the screen fades to black.

Alex Riley's music hits for the second time of the night, and the crowd doesn't react as strongly as before. There are no bodies leaping up from their chairs, wielding their A-Ry signs, chanting "A-Ry A-Ry!" When A-Ry steps into the entrance way, he doesn't look happy.

Booker T: Awwww yeah! My boy A-Ry!

Tazz: But you have to wonder, why are the crowd not into him anymore? Could it be that they're getting behind that Ambrose guy? God, I hope not!

Riley continues down the ramp, a grimace on his face. He takes a mic and steps up the stairs into the ring.

Riley: When I showed up here tonight, I was ecstatic. I was put into a fatal-four way to truly showcase my abilities by beating a super-powerhouse and two high-flighers by being the better competitor! But then, a couple things happened to piss me off! *A few more eyes in the audience are drawn to the center of the ring.* First thing! Dean Ambrose decided to call me out on my skills. Now, granted, I'm not one to get hurt over words, but I can't stand ignorance! Dean Ambrose said that my time in Japan and indys didn't help. He said that I "suck".*The crowd is a bit peeved that Riley is merely whining about being called on "sucking." But he's not done yet.* What irks me about that, is what irked me in WWE! I was called a loser! A future-future endeavor! A JOBBER! I wasn't even given a chance! And that's what Ambrose tried doing tonight! But that will not happen! I will take Dean to the limit, when I do get my hands on him! I will prove that I've improved from my WWE days! *Riley looks directly into the camera. One can be sure Ambrose is watching backstage.*Dean. You're a great competitor. Even if your losing record says otherwise. But allow me to reiterate an earlier point. You have no respect. You don't respect me, these people, or the legends that made this business! And when the time comes, I will show you the error of your ways! *The crowd is alive! Riley has taken their loss of interest, and turned it in his favor.*

Cole: Have these people forgot what happened earlier tonight!? Riley pretends he's a fair competitor, but he's got people doing his dirty work!

Riley: And one more thing. I'm sure all of you are wondering, "A-Ry! Why can't you fight your own battles? Do you need Lesnar to be beaten with a chair to win?" The answer is I can fight my own battles. I don't need to cheat. Or lie. Or steal. I'm a competitor! I know you people don't have a reason to trust me yet. But I did NOT have someone attack Lesnar! But I think I know who did! And I think that person should answer for trying to make me look like a coward!

Without even dispensing a name, A-Ry drops the microphone. He hops out of the ring to cheers. He's yet to compete in a match, or even win one for that matter, but he still has the spotlight. One can speculate that the man Riley is accusing is Dean Ambrose, but one cannot be sure. If that is true, the man they call Dean Ambrose may just be the next Cerebral Assassin!

It's everyone's favorite cult classic bringing you another week of steady curtain jerking. Two very strong entities in the form of The Undertaker and Trent Baretta are my opponents this week and, much like Jeff Hardy, they're not good people! If drugs aren't their vice, well, it's violence. And I would be a hypocrite to say that I oppose such a thing - it's the nature of the beast that is professional wrestling - but these two are especially degenerate in this field because they've both been known to do anything and everything to get what they want; success. But it's something they're both yet to have and tonight, live in front of tens of thousands of Bostonians, they will try and try and try again to get what I've already achieved in this company - their first victory! Though in two separate categories, 'Taker and Baretta that is, everyone's preferred outcome is one and the same.

Fortunately for me these two guys have a number of distractions all their own that will play to my advantage. Lets start with Undertaker's current dealings with the big red machine, for example. If those flaming pyros cause another distraction it could be the best thing to happen for me. I know he's not out to chokeslam a clown! So I have no worries in that department; I do, however, have to worry about the mental stability of Trent Baretta. He's a loose cannon (like someone else I may have to deal with in the near future, ahem), I mean... his name is Baretta for crying out loud. Scary. Aside from that little bit it's all in the dark with that guy. So what I'm saying is that your friendly neighborhood clown has found himself between a big, angry, eyes-in-the-back-of-his-head rock and a potentially psychopathic hard place. But fear not my fellow Doinkateers! We've got a game plan impenetrable by darkness and insanity alike. It involves several cream pies, a green tea latte, and a viper. Okay... you got me... I'm drawing a blank. But I will not fold!

...hopefully.

Scene;Back to basics.Doink could be found pacing in his own locker room backstage at the Boston Garden. This would be his second match and hopefully his second victory in a row on the road to TCW's big event that would crown a World Champion... that wouldn't be him. He wasn't even considered. Did this bother him? Of course it did; unfortunately, it's everyone's dream to be the top dog in this business and being overlooked due to face paint and a happy disposition was unsettling. Especially considering how gracious and humble he had been with Eve Torres the week prior. Certainly Jeff Hardy didn't deserve a title shot... but Doink? He proved his worth, but nevertheless he would have to climb up the rungs of the ladder a little slower than everyone else. Doink shook his nerves from his right hand and hopped from the tips of one foot to the other several times. He proceeded with this little dance of his, throwing punches and uppercuts in the air for several more seconds before the locker room door opened and the best midget in the business made his presence known. Doink's insatiable smile dissipated as Dink's somber face came into view.

Dink: "I've got some bad news and some worse news, Doink. Bad news is: Eve Torres declined your request to change the triple threat match to a three-way pie throwing contest. She said that wouldn't be fun for anyone except you; she also mentioned something about not having enough tarp for your Gallagher escapades, but anyway. The worse news is that your opponents are acting as if you don't even exist. They're taking you even less seriously than the big wigs are, and-"

Doink: "Well that's perfect, Dink! If they're ignoring me now then that can only mean they won't pay a lot of attention to me when the bell rings... and that's when we catch them with the whoopee cushion for the one-two-three."

Dink: "Oh... kay. Well, umm, Eve might have a problem on her hands if you're still interested in protecting her assets like you said."

Doink: "Orton Shmorton, that guy's a joke. Not an issue. Total non-issue, if you will, and I've got two big meanie-faces to look forward to this evening. I can't even think about that tool. I mean, come on. He's not even on the card tonight. That's how much of a non-issue this is. I mean... am I wrong? Are you seeing something I'm not?"

Doink walks out of the locker room door leaving his manager bewildered. Little D follows suit and walks the halls aimlessly with his client, still completely not knowing what's going through the mind of this clown until they reach a vending machine. Big D pulls a dollar from a location as gross and sweaty as a fat woman's cleavage and puts it in the machine only to be rejected. Doink makes three more attempts with this damp dollar bill when a three-foot tall Undertaker is seen approaching. Doink doesn't notice and completely ignores his manager's tugs at his polka dot pants until the dollar is finally accepted and the Dasani clunks out of the machine. Doink kneels down and is now face to face with this mini-Undertaker who has their eyes already rolling into the back of their head. Doink bursts into laughter, holding his hands at his gut classic Doink style.

UnderTIKEr: "I don't know what it is you think is so funny, boy, but come Monday night you're gonna be playin' in my yard and by the end of the match you will-"

Doink: "I'll what, Undertaker? Rest... in... peeeeace?" Doink rolls his eyes. "Give me a break. You can't think people still believe that crap. Well, the angry look on your face says you do - and I'm trying my best to respect you point of view, really I am - but it all boils down to the facts, 'Taker. Fact one: you let something as simple as entrance music distract you long enough for that greasy 'viper' Randy Orton, the very man I'll be taking care of if it gets that far, to hit you with his RKO and catch a three-count victory. Fact two: you're still on and on about this Kane business when the real threat this week is staring you right in the face. Get mad all you'd like, ex-American Bad butt, but this face-painted warrior isn't taking this sitting down. Fact three: look out! It's Kane!"

UnderTIKEr cautiously looks where Doink points but nobody is there. Doink takes this opportunity to shove 'TIKEr by the back of his head into a nearby trash can before exchanging a low five with his manager and walking away. The little hellion stumbles in the garbage as our two heroes laugh into the fading of the scene. It looks as if TCW's clown is clowning around just enough to have a good time, yet serious enough to look his fears in the eye and take this match head on before he gets to the bigger fish he'll have to fry later.

Jeff Hardy: Im out here right now to discuss my opponents in the fatal-4-way tonight. Lets start with Brock. Lesna, i'll admit it. You are a great superstar and a great powerhouse. But.... You say im a suck-up? Im not sucking up to these fans. Infact, what i do, is for them... To entertain them.

te fans cheer for Hardy

Lita: I.just wanted to add jeff, Brock... Not only do you piss me off, but im sure you piss off most of the superstars in the lockerroom. Ypu should go back to UFC before Jeff hits you with a Twist of Fate and a Swanton Bomb.

The fans chant Lita and Hardy

Jeff: Now onto Alex Riley. You hired a guy to attack Lesnar with a chair and now you blame someone else? First off, face your fears like a man. Secondly, I'll make sure you wont be able to compete next week, or the week after that. Why? Because your a coward and you will have Lesnar and.myself.after you.

The fans chant Hardy and Lesnar repeatedly

Jeff: Now, last but not least. Rob Van Dam

the fans roar with excitment and joy

Jeff: RVD, your probably the only superstar i respect in this match. I look forward to vsing you and im wishing you good luck. Your a High Flyer, one of the best in the world probably. Im a High Flyer, also probably one of the best in the world. It will be a great match and can't wait

Trent Baretta sits on a box backstage, with his head low. The last time that the TCW fans saw him, he snapped at a man in a deserted location, talking about how in the past, he's been overlooked. His actions were unexpected and shocking, as it wasn't that long ago that he was shoving pickles down a drain. He straightens his beanie, and strokes his beard, as if he is an artist looking for a sense of inspiration.

With every win, comes a feeling of happiness, and with every loss, comes a feeling of disgust. Needless to say, I've felt disgusted a lot of times throughout my career. Why is it that in order to be successful, you have to speak up all the time? What if you are blinded by the bright lights? I once made it where I needed to be, but I was too focused on my own surroundings, and not focused on who my opponents were. And why did nobody help me through my time in need? Why? Why Trent? Well I'll tell you why. It's because I never fit the mold of the three ring circus. I didn't have tattoos all over my body. I didn't have deformities. I wasn't too big or too small. I was just the sense of reality. That it's not about looks, it's about talent. But who listens to me anyway? Nobody listens to Trent Baretta.

And speaking of a circus, ironically enough, one of my opponents is a clown. But not just any clown, one who likes to have fun. It's a joy, isn't it? Risking your body and your life day after day. That's just all a big joke, isn't it? Well Doink, have you ever had your ankle shattered, like it was a pane of glass? Have you ever had your neck just give up on you? Have you ever read the news articles about the tragedies of professional wrestling? Absoutely hilarious.

Well I'll tell you what Doink. You like games? You like having fun? I've got a game for you: Try doing absolutely nothing for eight years of your life. Try working your ass off to nothing. Try understanding that not everyone has that silver platter in their hands. Everyone has to make a living. But in this world there are politicians holding you back. And speaking of:

Baretta turns his head, and you could almost swear turned the camera into ice with just one glance:

Undertaker. Growing up, I was mesmerized by your tricks. I was in awe of your ability to control a crowd and make matches five stars with the snap of a finger. But this isn't 1994 anymore. In 2012, even the best can deteriorate. You know that everytime you go up onto those ropes, it puts just a little more pressure onto those legs. And everyone knows that eventually , there's a breaking point. Your time is fading like the many you buried alive. Your leadership is closing like the book on your legacy. Every match can be your last. And who knows? Maybe I know something that you don't.

Baretta hops off of the box, staring at it for nearly a whole minute, before grabbing it, and pushing it. The speed increases, until with a quick release, it goes crashing into a wall. The sound is loud, and it attracts others to come over to the scene of the crime. They spot Trent at a steel door, pounding at it with his fist:

WHY WON"T YOU LISTEN? WHY WON"T YOU SEE WHAT I LEARNED?

WHY ME? WHY TRENT?

The scene fades off with Trent banging on the door, as a very concerned group of people watches.

“Last week was exactly the start that we needed. Now, without question everybody knows that we’re the real deal.”

There he goes again, ‘we’ like he was in the ring with me taking on Dean Ambrose. No, that was very much a one man job. I’ll be honest though, Paul probably could’ve taken the kid if he had to. There’s this mindset amongst fans that if you’re in the Indy scene for an extended period of time that you’re just being true to the business, that’s all false though. The wrestlers stuck inside of that life know it as well; they’d jump at the chance to make it to the big leagues; much like Dean Ambrose jumped at the chance to come to TCW. The harsh reality of it is the majority of them just aren’t tough enough though. Dean talked a good talk, but when it came down to it he didn’t have what it took to back it up. I might be a monster to face, but I’m not above admitting I’ve been tested – and bested before. Dean Ambrose was not a test, and he never will be. John Cena and Derrick Bateman? Possibly. They say what a man says, will tell you a lot about his manner, so why don’t we take a look and see what just sort of opponent I can expect to face tonight.

“This guy. And while Nathan Jones might be used to a different kind of three-way from his prison life…”

Can’t say I’m surprised that kind of joke was used against me, if anything I expected it sooner. I doubt for a second anybody would believe that will have happened to me though, I mean I don’t exactly scream an easy target. Not to say that didn’t happen though, many people got broken on the inside due to that kind of thing. Like that kid Andy I used to share a cell with, he got targeted by a group known as The Sisters. And well, I wish I could tell you that Andy fought the good fight, and the Sisters let him be. I wish I could tell you that; but prison is no fairy-tale World. He never said who did it, but we all knew. Things went on like that for awhile; prison life consists of routine, and then more routine. Every so often, Andy would show up with fresh bruises. The Sisters kept at him; sometimes he was able to fight them off, sometimes not. And that's how it went for Andy; that was his routine. I do believe those first two years were the worst for him, and I also believe that if things had gone on that way, this place would have got the best of him. It’s funny what a man will do to take his mind of the horrors he goes through inside, Andy became a rather proficient bird spotter in his time inside.

“Nathan, did that ever…”

Is he insane? To think that even if it had happened I’d open up to him like a book and spill everything.

“No.”

There’s that look, the one everyone gets when they picture what life was like for you on the inside. Go ahead, ask the question that everyone always does.

“What was it like? I can’t begin to imagine what being locked away for sixteen years would do to a man.”

I don’t think anybody who wasn’t done that amount of time would be able to guess what it’s like, there’s a big difference between being inside for three years, than to spend almost two decades staring at prison bars.

“You get a routine going when you’re inside, I’d hazard a guess that mine was the same as many other peoples. I woke up, I had breakfast, I trained, I got in fights, I’d be stuck back in a cell. That was pretty much it for sixteen years; it’s funny after a while time becomes a foreign concept to you. It’s like you’re stuck at a static point in time, noting changes, then one day you’re tossed back into the World kicking and screaming just like the day you first arrived in it. I guess you could liken it to being born again, or even waking from a coma. You step outside of the prison walls into a World that’s forgotten you, a World that you no longer belong in. Everyone you knew, and everything you knew has changed. It’s why so many people reoffend, prison stops being a nightmare to them; it becomes there paradise. They know how it works, and understand what you have to do to get by inside. The people that don’t reoffend though, they’re the really dangerous ones. Being in a World you don’t know makes you scared, and that makes you violent. That’s the real reason people should fear me, not because of my size; Because I really have nothing to lose.”

No answer? Another case of someone asking a question that has an answer they’re really not ready for. What did he expect me to say? That you do your time and you slide back into society as though you never left. That’s wishful thinking at it’s best, I’m fully aware I’m alone. It’s because of that I stick to doing the one thing I know how to do; beating people up. Tonight will be no different; John Cena and Derrick Bateman have no idea what they’re stepping into.

The cameras cut back from a commercial break after long and tenuous advertisements, only to find Mr. John Laurinatis oogling the crowd with his gazing blue eyes and thousand-dollar smile. Strangely enough, he seems to be happy out in the public eye, and he's relishing the current atmosphere out here in the city. Immediately as the cues signal him to, he raises the microphone up to his mouth and begins to speak with the voice only he could replicate.

Laurinatis: My name is John… Laurinatis, the...

As expected, before he could even continue on his self-introduction, the crowd barrages him with deafening boos, leaving him unable to continue on his flow of speech. The arena wants none of him; they'd rather be off listening to anyone else. But alas, he continues proudly:

Laurinatis: My name is John Laurinatis, and I have an important message for you fans tonight. I have something important that each and everyone of you need to be aware about. You see, a few months ago, I was approached by TCW's Board of Directors with a proposition. A very hefty proposition; the Board of Directors wanted to know if I felt like filling the shoes of the CEO position of this very company. That's right; because they saw something in me. They saw potential… in fact, they saw more than potential, they saw a secure future for the industry under my wing, a worthwhile investment. But I declined the offer with gratitude. You know why?

Booker: Because you're talking a bunch of BS.

Cole: Hey! Pipe down, you don't know anything.

As the five-time WCW champion rolls his eyes behind the commentator booth, Laurinatis continues on with his prestigious anecdote, looking as vivid as ever divulging his story.

Laurinatis: I declined not because I want this company to fail, but because I know when the time comes, the current management will all look at me as the right man for the job, and they'll get on their knees, begging for me to hold the position that so rightfully fits me. But more than that, I do have other important things on my plate I'd rather take care of beforehand. I'd rather have a role slightly more behind the scenes but still on-hand with the innings of TCW and its talent. There's quite a few big names I managed to get a contract here for. Because after all, there's one reason the biggest superstars in the world would all want to come here… so that they fight against the elite, the cream of the crop, the best of the best… and find out they have what it takes to be number 1. What it takes to be a World champion. What it takes to--

Suddenly, the lights slightly dim as John Cena's theme music blares the speakers, sending the crowd into yet another frenzy. Laurinatis stops smiling as he glares at the stage while holding his microphone feebly, wondering what's about to happen next. Whenever this guy's music hits, time can almost stand still for several people in the ring that he's confronted with. Quite an interesting gut feeling to have since he's not always been about throwing fists. At the right music cue, Cena explodes from behind the curtains with a smile on his face, holding his hand up to his forehead before performing a subtle salute to the camera. He then walks decidedly down the ramp as Johnny loks on, perplexed. Cena doesn't waste time entering the ring and raising his hand signs to the crowd before disrespectfully snatching the microphone off Johnny's hands. He lets the music die down and does not even pace the crowd reaction as he replies to John's comments.

Cena: You… you're a phenomenon. Honestly, I was hearing your tirade back here and some parts I couldn't help but laugh… some other parts I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, and some parts I just felt like, enough was enough and that I had to come down here to shut you up. [crowd cheers] Seriously, listen to yourself. Tooting your own horn like you're all that; believe me, I have ever, in my lifetime, seen someone's head shoved so far up his own ass like you've been doing for the past while.

The crowd is loving this barrage of disses hurled at by John Cena, the new man on a mission. Meanwhile, Laurinatis doesn’t know know how to react; he has suppressed anger he feels like taking out so bad, yet at the same time is holding everything in to keep some composure. Knowing this very fact, Cena carries on.

Cena: For starters, I can pick out exactly which parts of your story is absolute BS. The Board of Directors approached you to run this company? This… this empire with the greatest array of potential ever seen on Earth, all heralded by… you!? [shakes head and grins] I highly doubt that. What I do think happened is that the only thing they must've approached you for, is for you to go get their coffee. Or to get them their fax mail. Or even to take a walk whenever you're in their way. [crowd cheers] You haven't been a potential anything. I'll spell it out for you: you're John Laurinatis. You're just a tall guy in a suit who thinks he's important and that people should make headway for him, when the fact of the matter is no one will give you the day of light, not because you're TOO important but simply because people don't give monkey's balls about you! It's insane, and I'm done tip-toeing around the pot. The new John Cena ain't like that no more. This John Cena will tell you like it is, whether it's good or it's bad to hear. If you don't like it, I dare you to try and do something about it because hey, at the end of the day, we deal with our problems in the ring. Right?

Cena shrugs suggestively as he glares at Laurinatis. It seems like a legitimate question but Johnny is cautious about answering. He sharpens his eyes while glaring at Cena before replying something which can't be heard, as he doesn't own a mic anymore. Noticing this, Johnny pulls over to the side of the ring to asl for another microphone, and upon receving it, immediately embarks on Cena's case.

Laurinatis: First of all John Cena, I don't appreciate you coming here, and bludgeoning me with petty remarks like these, alright? What I would appreciate is if you’d show a bit of respect towards someone like me. Quite frankly, it's the least you could do.

Cena: You know what? I used to encounter a locker-room full of people who told me they deserved respect. Whether they were champions, challengers, authority figures or legends, there's a bucket full of them and time and time again, I've shown what it takes to get that respect you people so crave - you have to earn it. You earn it by working your ass off in this company and making something out of it. And yes, that could also mean out of the ring, John, but you don't know anything about that, do you? Your stupid little contracts don't prove anything. Now my old self would playfully wear you down and then tell you why you don't deserve respect at all, but this time I'll cut straight to the chase: you don't deserve jack because you… are… a… grade-A, stinking, dwelling, out-of-his-mind narcissistic pompous douchebag!

Everyone in the arena is eating this up, and so is Cena himself as he stares at various parts of the crowd, gauging the reaction. Johnny can't even look straight at Cena anymore.

Booker: Tell him, Cena!

Taz: Oh my, it's about to go down.

Laurinatis: That's enough. Cena, I won't have you disrespect me like that anymore. You have one last chance, or else--

Cena: Make something outta yourself and you won't be forgotten in this business. Yeah, you mentioned contracts and sure, you got a couple of good names. From The Rock to CM Punk to the Undertaker, they're all here and you're the one who helped them sign the dot. But you're not the one who brought them here. There's only three reasons they would have and that's where you're partially right about one thing: either they've come here to see that there's indeed the best of the best in this business and prove that they're the best, or because they simply love this business and want to watch it flourish for years to come, whether they're at the helm or not. Third reason? These people. [crowd cheers] These people who earned their money to come see us entertain, and we bleed sweat and tears to do just hat! Now, which one do you think I am? [Johnny goes to answer but Cena interrupts him] That would be all of the above. But that said… I do have a match tonight. An important match; the beginning of the TCW series. Starts right at the main-event where I will face off against two men, Nathan Jones and Derrick Bateman. I could spend hours talking about how I will overcome the odds and pull out the victory, but we'll do things differently this time--

In a timely manner, he picks up John Laurinatis and delivers one of the most devastating Attitude Adjustments seen in recent memory! The crowd pops as Cena then stands over the sleek body of Johnny before grabbing the mic and raising it up to his mouth slowly:

Cena: Tell your homies, tell your friends… tell your whole neighbourhood that the new Cena has arrived. I ike to kick it old-school, so let's say that wasn't an "attitude adjustment". I've administered so many of that in my lifetime. Rather, John, I got two words for you… or moreso two letters.

John Cena bends a bit more forward, with his face less than a meter above Johnny's; the tall man laying on the canvas is plissing his eyes, trying to keep them open and see what's going on exactly. The microphone is barely touching Laurinatis' forehead as Cena delivers a very hammy statement of a hundred decibels.

It was coming close to the final hour, it was almost show time and Antonio Cesaro was actually excited for his second match of his career in this new company. Word has gotten back to him that Mark Henry has heard what was said about him and he is angry and ready for a fight, this is exactly what Antonio Cesaro wanted. A camera crew has caught up to him as he walks down the hallway with Aksana hanging onto his arm. He was dressed to compete with his jacket covering his torso. Aksana looks at the camera crew and goes to speak on the behalf of Antonio Cesaro, but shockingly Antonio Cesaro would intervene and stop her from speaking. Instead he turns his head as he continues to walk and he begins to speak to the camera.

“It seems that Mark Henry is mouthing off now about me, he tracked down poor little defenceless Josh Matthews and forced him to conduct an interview; I am shocked he did not try to place him into his mouth and eat him. Mark Henry seems confident and I like that, like Aksana said I am looking for a challenge here and Mark Henry might just be that, will he defeat me…obviously he will not. All he has done so far here is defeat Chris Jericho something that I could have easily done myself with one hand behind ,my back and my eyes closed, his victory last week was not impressive, not in the slightest. It is pretty comical how he has convinced himself that he stands a chance against me, it is funny indeed that he believes he stands a chance against Antonio Cesaro. Mark Henry says that he feels like he is in his prime, he says that he is ready for this opportunity; I have never heard such nonsense in all my life. Mark Henry you need to invest some of your money in a mirror, because all I see is a washed up loser that cannot even do the basics anymore without injuring himself. I would stand here and say that your glory days are long behind you, but I cannot honestly say that because you have not had any glory days…period. You talk about having the drive to become a champion…you have no idea what that is. If you honestly had the drive to become a champion like I do then you would get yourself down to a gym and get into shape. You are not championship material, the only reason you have advanced this far is because you did not face me in your match last week, that’s the only reason. I have seen how you have performed so far in this company and I am not impressed at all. If you want to impress me then I want you to go all out on me, because if you want a slim chance of walking out of that ring with the victory tonight then you are going to have to give me everything you have got because I am not like Chris Jericho or the over relics that have made shelter here…I will not fall…I will not go down easily…I will stand tall and firm and raise above you.”

Aksana would squeeze tighter onto his arm as Antonio Cesaro just smirks. He wanted to address this idiot Mark Henry himself, he did not want Aksana speaking for him this time, he wanted Mark Henry to hear it all coming from his own mouth. Wasting little time he takes a small break from talking as he then looks back at the camera and continues on with what he has to say about his opponent Mark Henry.

“I know I have annoyed this beast of a man and that makes things far more interesting. I have said time and time again here that I want a challenge and now we are into the second week of things I might actually get what I want. I have been all around the world and I have never had a challenge that was really worth my time. Last week was really just a bore; it was utterly boring and really not challenging at all. I want…no I need a challenge I am hungry for it, I need it more than anything and now Mark Henry is at my front door he is stepping up and he seems annoyed at me and I hope that makes him a little bot worthy of facing me. Mark Henry has made it known that he wanted me to come and say everything to his face…please…he is not worth confronting to. I hate speaking this dead language…if I was to speak in my native tongue you would have no idea what I am saying. Consider yourself lucky that I even mentioned you in the first place and again consider yourself lucky that I am still talking about you. You insulted me and I was going to let that go, after all this is the business we are in, I insult you and you insult me that’s the way it goes, but you had to change that, you had to make it all personal you had to insult Aksana and that’s a step to far. I don’t need to hide behind a woman to defeat you…I have ever hidden behind anyone in my life, maybe that fat above your eyes has blinded your vision but my lady Aksana is at ringside with me to cheer me on, not to interfere in my matches. I will not hide behind her, I will not use her as a shield I will stand before you like a man and I will defeat you like a man, I am no coward and the fact that you think I am makes matters worse for you. I will defend my woman’s honour tonight; I will stand up for her. I am not going to let someone as washed up and pathetic as you speak down to someone like her. I was going to let you off with a warning for trash talking about me, but because you went too far and insulted Aksana I am not going to show you any mercy, I am not going to hold back on you tonight, last week was my warm up match…so what do you think this week is going to be like for you Mark…this is my second match and now I am going to have to take things seriously.”

Antonio Cesaro would now stop and turn to face the camera, he snaps his fingers as the camera crew also stop and stand before him as he shacks Aksana off him as she stands at his side a hand on her hip as she just looks up at him as he continues to speak.

“I will not hide behind anyone at all, what I said about Mark Henry I will stand by no matter what. He is nothing but an old man that has never reached his full potential. When he first burst onto the scene people had big plans for him, but because of his size and lack of ability it all went down the toilet and here he is still here trying so hard to make up for all the wasted chances he has had. Now I will admit he worked pretty darn hard to get back into the championship picture, but that was a year ago and a lot has changed, he is bigger and older and those two factors go against him. Mark Henry will never reach the top. He does not have it in him to do it again. You are just like all these other relics, you cannot take a hint…so I will have to force you to open your eyes and see that your time is over. You talk big for such an out of shape man, make no mistake about it Mark Henry…a stretcher and a medical team will be coming down to the ring tonight, but they will not be taking me out of the building…they will be taking you out.”

Antonio Cesaro nods his head and goes to leave as Aksana would grab his arm and pull him right back to her side as she locks arms with him she wriggles here finger to the camera to zoom in on her, right to her face as she delivers to final message to everyone listening.

“Haha! I hope you have heard this Mark, I hope that what Antonio Cesaro has said as sunk into your thick skull. If I were you and thankfully I am not…I would be buckling up and getting ready for a world of hurt! Because Antonio Cesaro is through with all the fun and games. Antonio Cesaro is basically brand new and improved, he is ready and with me at his side…with my guidance, Antonio Cesaro will become bigger and better than ever before, and if you don’t think so well that just means Mark that you lack the intellect to comprehend what is happening around you. Mark get into your head, Antonio Cesaro will be champion…this man right here…he will be at the top while you look at him from the bottom. Antonio Cesaro is the saviour of this business and he does not ask for your respect…he demands it from you. And if you don’t give it to him Mark then Antonio Cesaro will obtain it from you. Without a shadow of a doubt Antonio Cesaro will defeat you. Antonio Cesaro is the best wrestler in the world, and you will learn that first hand. A new era is starting here…and it is the era of Antonio Cesaro and Aksana!”

With Aksana now done Antonio Cesaro would pull her away from the camera as both of them now leave. They have let Mark Henry know that they are not afraid of him, that they are ready for him. This is not going to be any normal match, this is going to be a fight and only one person is walking away from it and it will be Antonio Cesaro.

------------The feeling in the air is not that of disappointment. It isn’t that of anticipation, excitement, like last week. Is it regret? No. It isn’t sorrow, it isn’t despair, but it isn’t happiness. It isn’t joy. It just feels neutral. No shift towards any emotion. No anger, sadness, happiness, jealousy, none of it.

The cameras roll to backstage where we see Josh Matthews, microphone in hand. He welcomes Wade Barrett and the fans boo as the camera pans out. Wade, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a black T-Shirt with “Barrett Barrage” printed in a teal, cursive writing on the chest over a golden-leaved rose. He just shakes his head and takes the microphone from Matthews.

“Now Josh, I am sure you would love to actually be able to do your job for once, but I have no desire to be the subject of an interview. I am not here to play to an audience of puppets in a carnival of lies. And though I have no hatred for you Josh, I would very much be pleased if you took your business someplace else. I am not going to hurt you, but leave me to do my business rather than yours.”

Josh opens his mouth to protest but Barrett just stares daggers into his chest. Realizing it would be best not to provoke the bare-knuckle brawler from Manchester, he just nods his head and steps off camera. Wade then turns back to the camera and orders him to continue rolling despite this no longer being an interview.

“Ladies and gentleman, this will be the fourth time you have been told this within the past week, but that is because I want it to stick. My name is Wade Barrett. The sole member, the general, the commander-in-chief of the Barrett Barrage. Last week, I was defeated by John Cena.[Cheers]Alright, alright, cheer, get your cheers, your boos, your ever annoying and overused “What?” chants out of your system now. Interrupting someone is rude and I’d hope you people would’ve learned manners. Now last week, I was defeated by John Cena. Though a defeat does not get me any closer to a World Championship, it does not derail the Barrett Barrage. I have been defeated before. I am not some kind of undefeated monster with commentators constantly screaming about “who can stop him” bullshit.”

Wade begins to walk off, motioning the cameraman to follow him. He walks down the hallways of the Boston Garden before we come to a locker room door, no tag for a specific superstar, just a generic locker room. Barrett pushes the door open and makes sure it is empty inside before he steps inside and beckons the camera to follow him. Maroon lockers make their way around the wall while two metal benches are bolted into the floor. Wade grabs a steel chair from the wall and places it up against a locker so the back touches the closed door. He realizes he still has the microphone in hand, but just shrugs his shoulder as he places it on one of the benches and takes a seat. Barrett then spreads his arms as if telling everyone to get a good look at the surroundings.

“I am not some type of otherworldly being. I am of this Earth. I am not a god, I do not expect people to worship the ground I walk on. I am a man, hardened by his experiences, and a man who has been faced with defeat. I have won fights, I have lost fights. I have been beaten, my bones broken and having one foot into the grave. Though I still stand before you today, because I overcome my loses. And now I show you all that reality. Not everyone gets their own locker room and amazing perks. Quite a few of us share a locker room, then there are some of us who get our own. Those are the champions, the big names, those who have the importance. This is not truly a world you think it is. All the little children in the audience who desire to grow up and be just like John Cena, or Jeff Hardy, or, for whoever knows what god awful reason, Alex Riley, aren’t going to have their dreams come true. They aren’t going to get signed by the big named companies and suddenly appear on the Brand A and face the World Champion for the title, winning in a fifteen seconds. That isn’t how the world works. You fight your way to the top, you claw and step on others. Some people may get by without having to bury others beneath them, but those circumstances are rare.”

Wade gets up and walks along the lockers before he stops at one and opens it. He removes a bag from it before closing the door and tossing the bag onto a bench. He unzips it and starts rummaging through it, speaking under his breath. He finds what he is looking for as he removes multiple pictures and sets them aside the bag before closing it and putting it back in the locker. He picks up the pile and takes a seat once more, as he looks through them before showing them to the camera. Multiple x-rays, showing bones broken, intense bruising, and all other things you’d expect to see following a heavy injury.

“Take a good look at these pictures. Injuries that everyone in sometime of sport will more than likely have to deal with in some way shape or form. Surgery plagues not only this industry, but other points such as in football, both the trash here in America and what you people call soccer, in the rest of the world. Bones will be broken, or at the very least sprained. You can easily end up with a concussion. That is the reality. This is not a world where you get away without getting hurt. Day after day, your body will be in pain. I don’t care how many dreams I am crushing right now, but if you aren’t told the truth, you keep placing yourself up on a pillar higher and higher. Once you finally are told you don’t belong on a pillar up that high, it breaks apart and you fall. Once you fall, you run from the truth. You look at the world and hide behind a mask, masquerading as someone, something, you are not. Reality hurts. It hurts you mentally, it hurts you psychologically, and most importantly....”

Wade takes the photos and tosses them to the floor, off to the side. He opens the locker room door and just walks through the halls once more, as if he’s hunting for prey. He finds it, as he comes upon Josh Matthews once more. He tells Josh once more, that he doesn’t hate Matthews, he has no problem with him, but that this is reality. Grabbing Josh by the collar, Wade throws him into a nearby table, knocking all the food resting upon it to the ground and breaking multiple plates. The crowd boos as Wade pulls Josh up and begins driving his knee into the chest and skull of Matthews repeatedly before throwing Josh into the cameraman. The camera falls to the ground as the cameraman falls to the floor with Josh Matthews on top of him. The only view we have is of the mess made from when Matthews was thrown into the table. We hear footsteps and soon the camera is brought up, now in the grip of Barrett. He keeps the camera on his face for a bit before turning the camera on Matthews and the unnamed cameraman. Josh is slowly coming to while the cameraman is beginning to get to his knees. We see the camera go to the floor once more and then the cameraman fall to the ground as a boot connects with his ribs. Wade’s voice is heard telling the man to stay down before Barrett picks up the camera once more.

“Reality hurts you physically. Look at the person sitting to your left. Now to your right. Back to your left. They’re all wearing masks. Hiding behind them, hiding behind a lie. It could be small, or it could be large. But the fact is, they’re hiding behind lies. I told Josh I wouldn’t hurt him earlier. I lied. Funny how that works out, isn’t it?”

We hear a chuckle from Wade before he turns the camera back on himself before it fades to black as Barrett turns off the camera.

Dolph Zigglers theme song hits the pa system in the arena. As Ziggler comes walking out from the back turning at the top of the ramp, taunting the crowd. Ziggler climbs up the steel steps and gets into the ring getting a microphone off the announcer.

"Last week....ha, last week was a mess up the ref made a mistake! I should've won! but I'm not gonna complain anymore. This week, I'm getting my revenge. against Kane and James Storm. All three us of are all former World Heavyweight Champions, grant it. Kane probably does might have the upper hand, but I am here tonight to show you all, and most importantly to show the world that me! Dolph Ziggler, is the show off! LATER MARKS!"

Dolph Ziggler aggressively throws the microphone out of the ring, and exits the rings as Vickie Guerrero does her annoying laugh and the live crowd in attendance boo them as they both walk to the back.[/div]

Rain hits the dark, colourless streets of Boston. Usually so busy, so hectic, tonight it is the total opposite. A ghost town. The calm before the storm of TCW hitting Boston Graden tonight, perhaps? For such silence to hit a city of seven million populous, it must be the early hours of the morning. 3AM? Probably later. The cameras continue to film what couldn't be further from the Summer's night is it meant to be. The camera's pan to reveal one man, or more accurately, a mammoth, standing under some shelter. Despite his heavy foilage of a knee length winter coat and an interior leather jacket, he is still soaked in rain. "Not a lot of people know what I've been through," grovels the deep voice, which as the cameras pan upwards, we learn is the voice of Ryback. He lets out a bark of a cough, the cold air infiltrating his lungs.

"You will though. You will learn the hardships I've been through. Massachusetts looks like nothing now. A wasteland. But compared to the places I've been in my life, the hardships I have endured, this is a paradise."

Ryback's voice is entirely emotionless, like a robot, a monster - devoid of emotion. His arms out stretched, he does a full turn, taking in his surroundings.

"I have suffered much. I have went through hell and back just to be in a city with roads like these. I have went through mental and physical agony to get here, to be part of TCW - to earn a wage. To live above the poverty line. To be recognised as a true monster. A warrior. "

Ryback plants himself on the seat of the bus shelter, and for the first time, we look into his eyes. Or rather, they look at us. Staring right through the camera lense, Ryback has an intensity never matched by anyone before him.

"So when people like The Rock come along and take everything for granted - I feel a burning inside me. A burning desire to take action. Not to wrestle, not to fight, not to hurt...but to destroy The Rock. That is my mission for the week. The Rock is not a man to be idolised. The Rock quit and thought he could return. Against the weaker, that may be possible. But when you take years out - you get sloppy. You're one second slower, you hesitate a little, you doubt yourself, you aren't used to be the punishment, which trust me there will be plenty of, and you are no longer the best. Maybe against people like Montel Vontavious Porter, against slackers. Against your average shmuck, the same old wrestler. Maybe that would be enough if you were just facing CM Punk tonight. But you are not. Tonight, Mr Johnson, you will be wishing this was a movie and you had a stunt double. The Rock has never paid attention to be before. But on Monday Night he will learn who I am. He will never forget who I am."

Ryback clears his throat, stares into the distance for a few seconds, and then gives the camera his attention once more.

"As for you, CM Punk...I have no words for you. I admire the work you have put in over your career, but unfortunately you will be in the ring with me tonight and so you will not be spared. You are between me and glory. The glory I deserve. The glory I will soon have. You like to talk, you like to say things no will else will say, you push buttons. But I assure you that after tonight, Punk - you will never try to tarnish my name again. You will never forget tonight. Your body will never free of the scars from our battle. You will never forget who I am."

He leans closer to the camera, so that the background, his clothing, everything is out of sight. Everything is irrelevant. All we can see are the eyes of the monster which stare right at us, speaking one thousand words.

""No-one will ever forget who I am. I Am TCW's Reckoning."

The stare continues as the only sound is the falling of raindrop - until finally Ryback shoves the camera over and it shows only the road which is more like an empty dessert, un-walked upon. The rain continues to fall as the cameras fade off to black.

The first match is almost underway on the second edition of TCW. Many superstars have come out already to discuss their matches, their opponents, and their feelings with how the company is being run. One man stands backstage, wondering why so many people are upset.This is only the second week, and people are already angry with the situation they are in? Have they not realized this is only the second week? The championship belts haven't even been earned. Yes, not won, but earned. Have they not realized that this is life in the wrestling industry? Or have they just gotten used to having titles handed to them on a silver platter? Typical, just typical. Things are always like this, but couldn't these feelings wait until the belts were around some wrestlers' waists? Preferably, his waist. Still, maybe these whiners were right. Take this moment for instance. The man has to go out there, into the ring, and address the idiots stupid enough to buy an overpriced ticket to watch something they could see from the comfort of their own homes for free, with the cable they're stealing anyway. Do it or we fine you, they said. Ain't that bullshit. He already answered some questions that their prick in a suit asked him, and now he has to talk to the audience. They need to get to know you, they need to get to know Mark Henry, those suits said. Fine. They'll get to know exactly who Henry is and what he thinks.

Somebody's gonna get their ass kicked.

That was his cue. Time to show the world who Mark Henry, and what he thinks of the world. He comes out walking with purpose in his normal wrestling attire; no fancy tie, no fancy tracksuit, just Henry. No fireworks go off, no hands are shaken, a few people give Henry the finger as he walks past, forcing the directors to make quick camera cuts.

"And here comes out one of the biggest bullies in TCW. Already he has threatened the staff and insulted the wonderful fans of this company. What do you think, Cole?"

"I think he has a right to Tazz. Everything he has been saying for the last few weeks is true."

Henry walks nonchalantly up the steel steps and brings the mic in his hand to his mouth.

"I've been asked to come out here and speak to the fans in the arena and the viewers at home. At first I politely declined, but when the GM's assistants made it clear that it was an order, I ungraciously accepted the opportunity. Now, when I speak to y'all, I want you to know that I don't see you people as fans of mine. Hell, I don't even see you as people. All I see are wallets that are willingly, stupidly, opening up and dumping their contents into my checking account. Nothing more, nothing less."

Nearly everyone in the stands, even the minority who were cheering for him earlier tonight, start booing him. One fan positioned near a camera in the stands can audibly be heard yelling, "Get out of the ring, fatass." Henry takes a few more seconds for the dramatic pause, another thing the administration forcibly made him do, then starts to speak again.

"I'm sure all you are waiting to hear my retort to Mr. Ice Cream Cone, el chupadora de pollas poco. Yes, I know some Spanish you pompous prick. And here it is...

See, nothing. I have nothing more to say to him. He had his tramp say something, I replied. Then he says almost exactly the same thing earlier this evening, but also defends said tramp. You say I'm old, I say I'm in my prime, and you just say I'm old again? Creative, very creative. If you enjoy your paid whore so much, then why not make a movie about your relationship? Give the men of this country the opportunity to see what the men of Lithuania have seen online and in person for $20. Hopefully you don't hide behind your woman tonight, just like you hid behind a camera a few moments ago. Because I can't ensure her safety if you do. I'll give you the opportunity right now. Come out here and say whatever you want to me. Go on, I won't even do anything. Come on."

The cameras move over Henry's shoulder as he stares at the entrance ramp. The audience isn't cheering, evidently not caring if Cesaro comes out or not. They are, however, standing up and staring along with Henry. Cesaro's theme doesn't hit, but a much different wrestler comes out, make-up and all. Doink the Clown comes out, holding a microphone, screaming into it.

"I will say whatever I want. You sir, are a bully. You are a fiend. You are..."

"Now stop right there. I let you off easy earlier, but now, coming out here uncalled for, you have lost any respect out of pity I once had for you. You wanna know what you are? You are nobody, literally. You hide behind a mask, an ancient name. Everyone here doesn't know your name. All they know is the character you play. You do not exist to them. The only people who may know your name are your family members, if they haven't already disowned you, believing that you're crazy, which you could be. You are the lowest level performer in this company, and, no matter how many wins you get or achievements you earn in this company, you always will be with the way you dress and the powder you put on your face. You sicken me. Get off stage. Go. Now. Get out of my site."

Doink looks heartbroken. He just stares off into space, unable to choke a word out. He looks down at the ground and walks backstage as the audience boos Henry and his actions. Henry, disgusted, is unable to continue. He throws his mic out of the ring, hitting the floor near the announcers, and rolls under the ropes. He walks up the entrance ramp opposite the side Doink walked out of as the screen fades to black.